


Finally

by NDKiwi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, ratings will change for later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 23:37:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NDKiwi/pseuds/NDKiwi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been three years since Sherlock...left, and John is called to the scene of murder to ID a body. The body of one Irene Adler.  Her new death is the least of the surprises awaiting John though.  Eventual Johnlock and Mystrade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finally

It had been a bad case. Lestrade had called John in because of who the murder victim was. Irene Adler; The Woman. Apparently not dead before, definitely dead now. John had not been sure exactly why Lestrade had wanted him there, maybe because he couldn’t be fooled. He had seen the real Irene. It was the first case he had been called in on since…well since the fall. It had been nearly three years since Sherlock had left them all confused, grieving, and angry. Two years since John had met and married Mary. One year since she had died. All in all, not a great time for John.  
When he arrived on the scene, he was taken to a room upstairs. He only had eyes for the body, trying to separate himself from the scene, hard to do when he had held a grudge against this woman for nearly five years because of what she had done to Sherlock. He made his initial examination and determined, to the best he could, that she was indeed Irene Adler.  
“The birthmark on her left breast and the scar on her inner thigh tell me it’s her. I have a blood sample from her that Sher…that was taken before she supposedly died again. It is hers not someone else’s. You can send Anderson by to pick it up later.” John told Lestrade as he picked up his cane and stood, turning to face the older man. “She seems to have been strangled and beaten. It was not quick.”  
John walked out of the room, trying hard to breathe properly. Being in this setting, seeing her again, brought back a flood of memories he had suppressed for so long. Not ready to face Donovan or anyone else until he calmed down, John ducked into a closed room, shutting the door behind him. He took a look around the room and stared. It was clearly a child’s room. Pictures of fuzzy animals hung on the walls and a soft green duvet rested on the toddler bed. Toys were strewn about the room haphazardly and clothes were in heaps and piles near a hamper in the corner. John blinked a few times. Irene had a child. Why didn’t anyone say anything? Perhaps they didn’t know? Maybe it wasn’t hers but one of her…’friends’. John sighed and walked over to sit on the tiny, soft bed and settled his head in his hands.  
A noise to his left stirred him out of his ever-darkening state. His head jerked up and he looked to find a small wardrobe had been where it had come from. Thinking it may be an animal, the sound was too quiet to be a person, he stood and walked over to it and opened the door, preparing himself to have a frightened cat fly out at him. What he did not expect was to find a small boy huddled in the corner, a mess of dark, unruly curls framing his small, angular face. The child looked up at him with silver-green eyes, rimmed with tears, his sobs shaking the tiny frame. John dropped to his knees, his strength giving out.  
“GREG!! GET IN HERE QUICKLY!!” He shouted over his shoulder before leaning over and holding his arms out to the frightened boy. “It’s ok. Im not going to hurt you. Im with the police. My name is John, what’s yours?”  
The boy’s eyes were still wide as he wiped an arm across his nose. He got to his feet and shuffled out into Johns waiting arms, flinging his small ones around John’s neck and burying his face in his neck. His answer was muffled but understandable. “Hamish Adler.”  
John’s heart skipped a beat at this. He was Irene’s and she had named him after John. A flashback to the scene in 221B flitted through his mind.  
“Hamish. John Hamish Watson. Just if you’re looking for baby names.” She had listened to him. He wondered for a moment about who his father could be before everything registered. The hair, they eyes, the cheekbones. ‘No…nope…not going there…not until I know for sure.’ He thought to himself. He turned is head as he heard Lestrade come barreling into the room, gun drawn, eyes sweeping back and forth. When he took in the sight before him, he put his gun away and shut the door. He started to open his mouth to ask questions but stopped when John shook his head.  
“I’ll go get someone from child services…” the DI started and John shook his head again. Greg just stood for a moment and took in the scene. He saw John squeeze the boy and pull him back a bit.  
“I have to go talk to that police officer over there for a moment, OK?” John asked the boy, who had stopped sobbing and now had just silent tears leaking from his big eyes. He nodded. “Why don’t you pick some of your favorite toys out so I can see them when I am done?” He watched for a second while Hamish walked to his toy box and began digging into it, tears starting to dry. John stood up and walked over to Greg.  
“How did your guys not catch this? How did they not see that she has…had a son?” John questioned quietly. “Because he sure as hell saw or heard something. He is terrified.”  
The Detective wiped a hand down his face and sighed. “I don’t know John. Damn. He looks just like...”  
“Don’t you dare say it. Don’t.” John put a hand up and stopped him. “Nothing is certain. DNA will need to be run. Until then he needs to be kept safe, especially if he has information the killer may not want us to know.”  
Greg looked over Johns shoulder at the boy. He was the spitting image of Sherlock, and he knew John saw it too. The age and timing fit perfectly. He shook his head to clear it and looked back at John. Poor, tired, sad John.  
“I will call child services, like I said. He will be taken and protected.”  
“No.” Johns reply was quiet but forceful.  
“But John, it is regulat…”  
“I don’t give a damn about regulation. I am taking him with me. I will not have him in the hands of ‘professionals’. He needs someone to watch over him. I can do that. I want to do that.” John looked over his shoulder at the little boy. He had a small pile of toys by his feet now. “He has been through enough already.”  
“I don’t know John. Do you think it is wise? What if he turns out to be Sh….”  
“Greg, I NEED to do this. ESPECIALLY if he turns out to be his son. Please” The last word came out as a plea and Greg saw the loneliness in Johns big blue eyes, the need to be needed, the want to have some connection to the enigmatic man he had lost. His heart broke a little at the sight and he sighed again.  
“Alright. I will get the paperwork drawn up tonight. You can take him now, but I will need a statement from him. I will come by your flat later to get it OK?”  
“Yes, alright.” Was the only reply Greg got before John turned and started towards the child again.  
“John?” He called before he left. John turned to look at him questioningly. “Maybe you should call Mycroft. He can probably answer questions and speed up DNA. Keep him safe, alright?” He saw John nod and he turned and walked out of the room.  
John crossed the room again and sat down on the edge of the bed, facing Hamish. The young boy had finished digging for treasures and sat down on the floor, a small pile of toys in front of him. He picked up small stuffed object and held it out for John to see.  
“It’s a molecule. Mummy thaid it wath water, but I cant drink it.” He looked a little confused and bit his bottom lip. “Mummys not coming back thith time. That bad man thaid tho.” A tear fell again and John was on the floor scooping the child into his arms before he even knew it. He was rocking back and forth, murmuring reassurances into the mess of curls on the young boys head.  
“Shhh. Im here. Its going to be ok. Shhh.” He continued until Hamish calmed down a bit. He leaned him back and brushed an errant curl out of his face. “Your mummy is not coming back this time, that is true, but we don’t have to talk about that right now. I am going to take you home with me though, for a short while, until we can find out who…errr…where your daddy is. OK?”  
“Mummy thaid daddy wath dead, too.” His face screwed up again in confusion and fear this time.  
“Well we will make sure of that first. But are you ok with coming home with me or would you rather go with the officers?”  
“With you pleath, John. I like you. You theem nice.”  
“Well thank you. How about we get some of your things packed then and we will head to my place. OK?” John smiled down at Hamish. The young boy just nodded and took Johns hand leading him to the wardrobe. Inside John found a small overnight duffel and pulled it out. “Hamish, you can pick out some toys while I get clothes together.”  
John started sorting through the clothes that were hung up and noted that Irene seemed to love to dress him in little suits with waistcoats. It was all too familiar a wardrobe as he pulled out black trousers, different brightly colored shirts, waistcoats. In the drawers of the dress he found pants and socks and piled them into the bag as well. The bottom drawer held silk pajama sets and a dressing gown in deep blue. All of this went in the duffel and all John could think was how it must be rough not having a single pair of jeans or a t-shirt. He vowed to get some for the young boy. He doubted very much that Hamish had been allowed to play outdoors much and John wanted to make sure that changed too. After the bag was full, he found a small backpack among the left over clothes in the wardrobe and he began to place the toys Hamish had picked out into it. He glanced around the room as the child was busy packing and his eyes fell on a framed picture of Irene holding a newborn Hamish. He crossed the room and picked it up, surprised by the love in her eyes as she looked down on her baby. He felt sad for her and even worse for Hamish. It must have been hard, finding out she was pregnant and alone. Having to raise the child in relative secrecy. If Hamish did turn out to be Sherlock’s, not that John had much doubt, then he would be taken care of. It was the least John could do, to bear Sherlock’s responsibility on his own shoulders. He shook his head to clear those thoughts and looked around to see if they had missed anything. He saw a small bookshelf beside the door. He crouched down and browsed the titles that lined the shelves and chuckled to himself. It contained the usual nursery rhymes, fairy tales, and children’s books of course, but it also contained beginners guides to Chemistry, Physics, Algebra, and, oddly enough, Astronomy. John scooped up a few of the kids’ books and all of the others and carried them to the bed and placed them in the backpack along with Hamish’s toys. He zipped both bags up and placed the backpack on Hamish’s shoulder and hefted the duffel onto his good one and held out his hand.  
“Ok Hamish, we are going to walk out of the house now and get a cab to my flat. Now people are going to be staring at you and try to talk to you. I want you to ignore them for me. They are not important. The only important thing right now is for you and me to go to my flat. Do you understand that?” He looked down at Hamish, whose hand was gripping Johns tightly.  
“Yeth, John. I don’t care about them anyway. They mithed me so they must be pretty dumb.” He said. John could see him square his shoulders and had to smile.  
“True enough. On we go, my little soldier.” John opened the door and held tight to Hamish’s hand as he began to lead him down the stairs. In the entry way he could see Donovan and Anderson talking about something and another few officers that John couldn’t name photographing the room. As the sound of their footsteps reached the people below, Donovan turned her head to see who was coming and her jam nearly dislocated itself. Anderson saw her reaction and turned to see what had happened. His eyes grew wide and his mouth was moving and not a single word came out. John looked past them and tightened his grip on both the duffel and Hamish as they came within a few feet of them. They kept walking and were almost out the door when he heard it. The words he had been dreading since coming to the scene. Just behind him, not nearly whispered enough, he heard Donovan say, “That kid looks just like the freak!”  
That was it. John dropped the duffel to the ground and knelt down to talk to Hamish.  
“I have to go talk to that lovely officer back there. Why don’t you sit right here and officer,” He looked up at the young officer beside him and read his nametag. “Jefferies will keep you company.”  
After making sure Hamish was settled in and Jefferies was attentive, John walked back into the house and shut the door silently behind him. Donovan looked up as he approached her. Keeping his voice eerily calm, not even a hint of the rage boiling beneath his ski, he addressed her. “Sergeant Donovan, how nice of you to get up off your knees for a moment and grace us with your intelligence. That child there, the one you and your entire team seemed to have missed when sweeping the building, just saw his mother violently murdered.” Sally started to open her mouth but John held one finger up in the air and silenced her. “And as for the person you seem dead set on still referring to as ‘Freak’, he died to save countless lives and solved more cases than you and everyone you know combined. He covered your ass on innumerous cases and, if I am not mistake, has recently had his name cleared by every governmental agency under the sun. So, yes, HAMISH looks quite a bit like him and yes, he may in fact he his son, and if that is true, then he is damned lucky to have such an outstanding father to look up to as he grown up. And you had better watch yourself because he is only four and he can out think you all. Good day.” John turned on his heel and left a flabbergasted Sally and Anderson in his wake. Once he was outside he found Hamish giving Jefferies a detailed explanation of how to tell the height of a person by the size of their shoe print. He smiled at this and walked up to them. “Well, Hamish. Are you ready to be off out?”  
Hamish stood up and adjusted his backpack before taking Johns hand again. John lifted the duffel onto his shoulder again and said a quick thanks to Jefferies before stepping to the curb to hail a cab. When one stopped he helped Hamish in and slid in next to him.  
“Where to?” the driver asked.  
“187 Gower St. please.” John rattled off before settling back for the ride and trying not to think about the man whose miniature possibly sat beside him playing with a rubix cube.  
From across the street, bright silver/green eyes watch in amazement as John got into the cab with the child. "That cannot be possible." The deep baritone voice bounced off the walls of the abandoned flat and back to the stranger. This needed some investigation.

 

\---{-@


End file.
